


The Crest of the Waves

by supernovainparadise



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Bisexual Cullen Rutherford, But at this point are any of you surprised?, Drowning, Hurt/Comfort, Just a fun little fic for MerMay!, Kinda? It's third person, M/M, MerMay, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, POV Cullen Rutherford, Post-Dragon Age II, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Sweet Cullen Rutherford, Takes place completley outside of my DA Worldstate, Temporary Character Death, That tag isn't used enough
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24033049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernovainparadise/pseuds/supernovainparadise
Summary: Cullen Rutherford has spent the last seven years believing that demons are everywhere, and nothing about Kirkwall has done anything to dissuade that mindset. The chantry (and Meredith) have lead him to believe that demons are can be found wherever mages can be found, and wherever death can be found.But after meeting a rather odd creature, Cullen's doubts about the chantries teachings only seem to increase.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Male Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Kudos: 5





	The Crest of the Waves

**Author's Note:**

> UNFINISHED but I'm posting it so I don't lose it.

The Raiders of the Waking Sea call them the Drowned Ones. The seers and people of Rivain refer to them as Sirens. Tevinter calls them Merfolk. Ancient Ferelden tales call them Merrow. 

The Chantry calls them Abominations.

And so, that was the tale Cullen spent most of his life believing. Swallowing everything the Chantry fed him, never bothering to doubt. Perhaps when he was younger he was curious enough to flip through a book. The tales said that the creatures predated the Chantry, and some sources claimed that they predated the Imperium, stretching back to the times of the Ancient Elvhen. However, outside of fantastical tales and interesting research, the Chantry was firm in their teachings regarding the Merrow. They were nothing more than vessels, dead men and women, who drowned and were left in their body of water, possessed by all manner of demons; Desire, Hunger, Terror, Rage, Vengeance... They would appear to be beautiful creatures, luring you in before drowning you and taking your body for their own. Some of the recruits would scoff, disbelieving in the tales. Many people of Thedas saw them as just that; tales. Stories to keep children from playing too close to the water, or to keep sailors from getting too drunk at sea.

But for a moment, listening to Varric weave his story for the enraptured tavern, he entertained the idea that the stories might just be true.

"... and so, the Captain got away with her life and few new scars, as well as a trinket that no one would believe... A pristine Siren scale, that would never tarnish and could be used to call upon a dear friend, should the need ever arise," the dwarf finished with a flourish, gesturing grandly with his mug of ale to a round of raucous applause that even Cullen joined in.

Guardsman Donnic elbowed him softly in the side and grinned. "Quite different from how the Chantry pictures them, isn't it?"

Cullen chuckled softly, taking a long sip of his ale and stretching. " _Very_ different. The Chantry says that they're possessed corpses."

"People who drowned at sea, correct?" Donnic grunts, watching as some of the younger patrons sitting close to Varric fire question after question at the author.

"Any large body of water," Cullen corrects, frowning slightly. "I doubt it's more than just an old wives tale from the Alamarri days, meant to keep people cautious around the water."

"Certainly works, if you ask me. They make for an excellent character in a fireside tale, at least."

Cullen merely hums in agreement, downing another mouthful of (rather awful) ale, as several of the patrons get up from their chairs and stumble towards the door, chuckling amongst themselves. A few minutes later, his companion polishes off his ale and says goodbye, saying "I should get back to Aveline; Andraste only knows where I would be without her."

"Stay safe out there, Donnic."

Soon after, Cullen finishes his own drink, tosses a few silver to the bartender, and heads out as well, comfortably buzzed but far from as drunk as some of the other patrons of The Hanged Man that night. He steps out into the night air, which seems to be more pleasant in Lowtown than during the day, and begins to make his way towards the Gallows. As per usual, a lot of the people lurking in alleys or leaning against walls slip into the shadows at the sight of the Knight-Commander.

Knight-Commander... The title feels hollow now, after everything that's happened. Cullen has never held a looser leash on the mages under him and he's uncertain whether that's good for them or bad. The voice in the back of his head, the one that seems insistent on reinforcing the Chantry's doctrine, reminds him that the Circles exist for a reason. And yet, as he climbs the stairs leading up near the docks, he wonders if perhaps those reasons aren't quite as strong as they used to be when the Chantry was first formed and the risk of conflict with the Tevinter Magisters was at its peak. 

But as he walks along the docks, heading for a side entrance into the Gallows, he hears an odd sound off to his left, causing him to pause. He turns towards the noise, cautiously resting a hand on the handle of his sword and stepping slowly, trying to avoid the most rotten planks under his feet. He hears the sound again and realizes that it's coming from the water. Several (well-honed) instincts screamed at him to simply turn and leave, but whether it was the ale or the wind off the sea or even Varric's story still floating around his head, Cullen continued to approach. As he got close enough to see the roll of the tide, he also saw what looked like a fishtail briefly slip out of the water and before vanishing beneath the surface once again. He hesitates briefly at the side of the pier, the warnings of Knight-Commander Gregoir and the sisters who served in the Circle ringing in his ears. But then another tantalizing glimpse of that strange tail, heading towards the Wounded Coast, flashes out of the water and Cullen's curiosity (which has begun to flourish once again) gets the better of him, and so he follows the opalescent flashes down the docks and out of Kirkwall. Before he knows it, he's hiking across the rough shore just outside of the city. He's beginning to suspect that he's not following so much as he's being lead. Again, the Chantry's warnings begin to spike in his head, but if it were truly a demon beneath the gentle waves... wouldn't it have already struck?

His curiosity continues to pull him, and he carefully steps among the rocks and now empty tide pools, watching for the tale to flick above the surface once more. Every sighting drove him along, his steps the tiniest bit quicker as he followed. He even swore that, once or twice, he heard a soft laugh. Before he knew it, he'd ended up on a slightly more solid piece of shore, though the water near him was deeper; he couldn't see the bottom of this particular patch of seawater. But just below the surface, he swore he saw something move. Perplexed, he leaned down to get a closer look, ignoring every bit of training the chantry had ever given him...

And a hand flew up, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him into the water.

At first, Cullen panicked. He was being drowned, killed by a demon! He was going to die down here, all because he was too foolish to- wait. Nothing was holding him down. He was submerged, but there was nothing keeping him submerged. The motion hadn't been malevolent... it had been playful. Cullen gathered his bearings, then kicked his way to the surface. He took a great gasp for air and shook out his hair which had, Maker forbid, gone _curly_ again. He sighed, and just as he was bout to turn back towards the shore... Another figure surfaced, smiling sweetly at him.

Pointed ears, gentle and soft features, large doe-like eyes... For all attempts and purposes, they seemed to be elven. But before Cullen could ask any sort of question, they vanished beneath the waves with a flick of what must be their tail. They certainly seemed how the chantry describes them, and yet... They'd had a very good chance to kill him, and yet they had not. Maybe they were... benign?

Cullen swam back to shore, carefully pulling himself back onto the rocks, but he didn't go far. Leaning slightly over the edge to try and catch another glimpse at the elf, siren... thing. And he was rewarded. This time, they popped up right in front of him. Cullen started, scrambling backward as they laughed.

He had a clear view of more than just their elven features this time. They had sandy blond hair, that shone silver in the moonlight and fell somewhere below their shoulders. Their eyes were a delicate shade of violet, though that may just have been a trick of the moonlight off the water. Their skin was olive toned, and they were finely muscled and... Masculine, he added as they pulled themselves up so their arms rested on the rock in front of Cullen and their tail flicked through the water.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Knight-Commander." He said, his voice rich with laughter.

Cullen merely stared for a long moment, before finding his voice again. "How did you-"

"-know who you are?" the siren finished, flashing him a roguish grin. "I've had an eye on Kirkwall for a while. And I do come up on the shore, once in a while. I'm not chained to the water, contrary to what the Chantry teaches."

Cullen blinked down at him. "... what's your name?"

"Avalon." The siren provides. "Once I was a Dalish Elf, and now I am whatever I really want to be." Avalon gave Cullen's sword a dirty look. "Not planning on skewring me with that, are you?" he paused, considering, then added, "at least try and make it fast if you are."

Cullen unbuckled the sword from his sheath and tossed it away. He wasn't sure why, but he suddenly found himself not wanting to offend the elf. "What do you mean you _used_ to be a Dalish elf?"

Avalon sighs, looking sad. "I was, until I ended up in the waves. I was trying to save one of the young hunters who fell from the cliffs. I managed to get him to shallower waters, but a riptide pulled me back out. I thought I was done for. I was sinking into the waves, and everything was going black... But then I woke up."

"You... woke up?"

"Yes."

"Like this?"

Avalon gives him a wry smile. "Yes. And as I blinked awake, I remember a voice telling me that it was not yet my time. I was transformed."

Well, it appeared that the old stories were right; that sirens really were the result of someone who died young brought back by some otherworldly force. Whether that force was a spirit, or a god... "Do you know who the voice was?"

Avalon considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "No. It was feminine, I think, but that doesn't really mean anything."


End file.
